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Thursday, November 24, 2005
Recently I have been on a work-and-noveling binge, hence my lack of posts here.
In my writing mania, I have become a posting maniac on my work blog. If you want to keep up with my alter ego - no mad-scientists or piranha-woodpecker hybrids, in other words - the PMS Museum is the place to go. Recently I have written on these fascinating topics:
On the noveling front, I've written 40,000 more words, with about 10,000 more to go to "win" this year's National Novel-Writing Month. In total, including the 15,000 words I wrote last year, I have 55,000 words of a very poorly typed novel with half-baked characters and dubious plot lines.
I am wringing my neck on how to expand the role of my grandmother's werewolf neighbour.
The werewolf was a real-life neighbour my grandmother had living next to her; his family locked him up during full moons. From behind the closed door, they would hear him howling and clawing at the ground. My mother says I even met him.
After I wrote him into the novel as a minor character named Archibald, my sister protested. "Arturo was my manager's name and suits a werewolf more," she said.
Poor Arturo needs to have a bigger role. But how?
Then there is the ridiculous break-up excuse the vampire gypsy playboy gives my taxidermist main character. Perhaps it's because I so would love to date a taxidermist that I can't fathom how this guy can break up with the girl. I just can't write about it plausibly. The gibberish I have so far just alludes to the fact that he's just not that into her. Moron.
I tried making his excuse more along the lines of "I am only doing it to keep from hurting you" but hell, if she is tough enough to neck with a vampire, she ain't going to be hurt.
The fur trapper love triangle thing also didn't work as planned - I mean, the guy hunts polar bears yet can't say "You! Woman! Sit on my lap!" He's going to need to shed his wussiness in the second draft.
I've written one of three requests for cameos into my novel in this quote uttered by a frail old man who meets my vampire huntress:
"She went to [the henhouse] fetch some eggs for my son's breakfast and returned as a vampire, with the vampire chickens in tow. The chickens could not bite but they could peck. My son was pecked to death! After the ..... attack, I found his husk in the bed left by that insufferable daughter-in-law of mine!"Can you guess who that blogger-turned-vampire is?
I am not sure where the others will go; I'll probably slap on their names to some random zombie.
If anyone has further plot suggestions, this desperate novelist needs them!
Back to the novel now.
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